


All I Want for Christmas

by VirgoDraconis



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, F/M, HEA, Smut, Strictly Dramione, ron who?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21891085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirgoDraconis/pseuds/VirgoDraconis
Summary: Draco and Hermione have already had their first chance at marriage. One is a widower, the other divorced. Now they are older and wiser. Will they take a second chance on love?
Relationships: Draco/Hermione, Scorpius/Albus - Relationship, dramione, scorbus - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105
Collections: Strictly Dramione Christmas Fest 2019





	All I Want for Christmas

Draco pulled up the collar on his wool coat then stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets. The cold was hardly tolerable during the day when the sun was blotted out by thick gray clouds weeping icy tears over the barren earth, let alone at night when it was busy shining summer heat on the other side of the world. Such a strange thing to think of, and yet it was preferable to the dismal reality he faced as he stepped off the icy pavement and walked toward the small pub at the end of the lane.

The snow was already piling high on the thatched rooftops and warm light spilled from the open windows onto the ground, lighting a path that felt otherwise bleak. The snow crunched beneath his feet, and none of the adornments added cheer to this silent night. What good were the candles that floated in the trees? What good was the holly strung on the eaves?

It had been years since Astoria had been alive to fill their home with such seasonal cheer. Why should he miss it now? These days, her memory was only a dull ache in his chest, unlike the sharp wind cutting through his scarf. He cursed Theo for choosing this place to meet. On the upside, being in Hogsmeade meant he was free to cast a warming spell.

At the end of the lane, a sign hung by one hinge, carelessly announcing the Hog’s Head as one of the few places in Hogsmeade that didn’t care to fall in line with the neighboring structures in the otherwise picturesque snow-laden village.

Draco pushed his way into The Hog’s Head and walked straight to the bar.

“Whiskey, neat,” he said, brusquely.

The barman looked him up and down, noting, no doubt, the dragonhide gloves, the tailored coat, the neatly coiffed blonde mane, then said, “Blishen’s?”

“Naturally,” Draco said, pleased to find a barkeep who had sense enough not to offer him the pond water that was Ogden’s Firewhiskey.

Draco scanned the room. Where was Theo, anyway? His eyes caught on locks of chestnut curls brushing the delicate shoulders of a woman on the opposite side of the room. Something inside him awoke and stretched deliciously. Go back to sleep, he told it, but it only blinked sleepily and smiled as the low dulcet tones of her voice carried through the din and stroked his ears. What was she doing here? He considered leaving, but quickly decided against it. He would enjoy watching her from afar tonight. The creature inside him hummed with satisfaction.

“You going to stand there and stare all night, mate?” Theo’s voice broke the spell.

“I don’t know what you’re going on about,” Draco said, setting a handful of galleons on the worn wooden surface of the bar and picking up his glass. “Keep it full,” he said to the barman, who nodded and turned away, galleons disappeared to who knew where.

Theo led Draco to a table with a clear line of sight to the woman he could not tear his eyes away from. It wouldn’t do at all to draw attention to his interest in her. He took a large swallow from his glass; he would need a lot more of that if he was going to survive this night.

“Minister, excuse me, but a wizard a few tables away has been watching you.”

Hermione felt her brows knit together. She was usually good at sensing unwanted attention. Who would be watching her here? No one knew she was going to be here. No one, that is, except her assistant, Pansy, but she wouldn’t dare to send anyone to look out for Hermione. They had already debated the reasons Hermione did not require security detail; what an absurd idea. But who was watching her now? Was she losing her touch?

Finally, unwilling to continue this guessing game, she turned around to see the wizard for herself. She caught Draco Malfoy’s eye and felt herself flush. She hadn’t known he would be here tonight. He looked only vaguely curious, but even from here his silvery eyes cut right through her. She turned back to her guest, distracted and flustered.

“No need to worry,” Hermione reassured the man, “just an old school mate.” They hadn’t exactly been friends all those years ago. But she had never really held a grudge against him. Why should she? They were adults now, not children influenced by their parents and warped by the realities of a war they never chose. They were free to make whatever choices they liked. And Hermione liked most of the choices they had made; only now she was second-guessing the one that left her sitting here pretending to be indifferent to him.

“So sorry, Professor,” Hermione said, snapping out of her reverie. “I was lost in time for a moment.”

“It’s easy to do,” the man replied, “I do it often, myself.”

Hermione was getting used to these kinds of cryptic statements made by the foreign man and it only made her curiosity grow. As it turned out, there was an entirely different brand of magic she’d never known before she had met the Peruvian Shaman sitting across the table from her. He was at Hogwarts teaching this magic for a short stretch of time and Hermione couldn’t pass up the opportunity to learn all she could from him.

The holiday break was the perfect time to meet with him, and Hog’s Head was always quieter than The Three Broomsticks, which was bound to be filled with students and holiday shoppers. Hogsmeade was a dream in winter. Even now, Hermione couldn’t help but feel uplifted at the sight of the floating candles or garlands of evergreens strung around the village like organic ribbons wrapping the whole of Hogsmeade like a gift. Hog’s Head was admittedly less festive than The Three Broomsticks, but she couldn’t bear to deal with the attention she would get in the busier establishment, and anyway, she still had a soft spot in her heart for Aberforth for all he’d done those many years ago.

Hermione felt gooseflesh spread across her skin and she resisted the urge to turn around and give Draco the satisfaction of knowing how much of her attention was attuned to him. She imagined how he might use this information against her later. She imagined how he might feel against her later. She shivered and pushed away these thoughts. This was neither the time nor the place.

Her companion was smiling placidly.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, “I really don’t know what’s come over me.” She looked into the empty glass of meade and wondered if perhaps she’d had enough.

“No need to apologize,” said the man. His smile was kind, his eyes knowing, and Hermione felt inexplicably exposed though she knew he wasn’t a Legilimens. So strange.

“Potter,” Draco said, as the final member of their party took a seat.

“Get over it already, Draco,” Harry said, pulling off a black and gray scarf.

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m still holding onto some schoolboy grudge,” Draco said. “I assure you, until recent events,” Draco cocked a brow, “I’ve hardly thought of you at all.” His lips pressed together to show his utter lack of amusement.

“Oh, come off it,” Harry said, sitting. “We both know this has nothing to do with us.”

Draco watched Harry take off his glasses—the same rounded frames he had always worn—and pinch the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. Draco relaxed, remembering that this situation was impacting them all.

“What amazes me,” Draco said to Harry, “is that after all these years, you still haven’t learned not to meddle in matters that don’t concern you.”

“Doesn’t concern me, my arse,” Harry said. “Besides, it’s always worked out for me before.”

Draco laughed and then Harry joined in.

“You two,” Theo said, shaking his head. “Let’s get to it, then, shall we?”

Hermione turned reflexively at the sound of laughter filling the small room.

“Harry?” she said aloud, without thinking, turning to look over her shoulder again.

The three men at the table looked in her direction. Theo looked inexplicably gleeful, Draco wore the tiniest hint of a smirk, but Harry’s face lit up in pleasant surprise.

“Hermione?” Harry said, rising from his seat and walking toward her. “I didn’t see you here.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Hermione laughed. Harry was so oblivious sometimes. “Is there some sort of party I wasn’t invited to?” Her eyes darted to his table, then back to him.

“Hardly,” Harry replied, pinching his nose again.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, noting the movement. She knew he was often stressed by his job as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, but he looked more strained than usual.

“Just another migraine coming on,” Harry said. “Wish I had thought to bring some climacis potion with me.”

“I can help,” Hermione’s companion spoke up.

“Oh, how rude of me,” Hermione said, “Harry, this is Professor Selestino. Professor, this is Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said. “I’d love some help. These migraines have become debilitating.”

“Please sit,” the man gestured to the empty space on the bench next to him. “Close your eyes and relax.”

Harry did as he was told, and then Professor Selestino closed his eyes and began speaking in a low hum, words incomprehensible to Hermione. After a moment, he went silent and took a few deep breaths.

Hermione had so many questions, but she bit her tongue, knowing she would have the opportunity to ask later. For now, she just watched as the small, dark-skinned man placed one hand hear Harry’s forehead and another on the back of his head.

After a minute of this, Hermione’s attention began to drift back to Draco. She wondered why he and Harry were meeting here; he certainly hadn’t mentioned it to her. Was he still watching her?

Hermione slid quietly from her seat, both Harry and the man sitting very still, eyes closed. They wouldn’t miss her. Her eyes met Draco’s as she passed his table on her way to the washroom. He watched her pass, and the mask of indifference he wore now caused a pang in her heart that she didn’t like one bit.

When the door closed, she splashed a bit of water on her face, suddenly feeling hot and oddly unfocused. Again. Then, she dried up and looked in the mirror.

“Get ahold of yourself,” she scolded her reflection. She took a couple deep breaths then pushed out the door and ran right into Draco, colliding with such force that he had to grasp her upper arms to keep her from falling backward.

“Everything alright?” he asked, silver eyes cutting through the fog in her head.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Yes, quite.” He didn’t release her, instead, inspecting her to be sure she could stand on her own. Then, apparently satisfied, he let go. She felt a reflexive frown form on her face. Malfoy noticed.

“You don’t look alright,” he said.

“Look,” Hermione’s eyes scanned the room surreptitiously to make sure they weren’t noticed, then continued, “I know we agreed to keep this quiet, and it made sense before, but I don’t know if I like it now.”

“And what would you have me do?” Draco asked. She could see his fists clenched and knew he must be restraining himself from reaching out to her again.

“There’s nothing to be done right now,” she said, “but let’s reconsider.”

“As you wish,” Draco said. Satisfied, Hermione made her way back to her table, ignoring Theo’s suspicious eyes.

...

Draco sank into the dark leather chair placed in front of the large fireplace in his study. The moonless night beyond the expansive windows was dark and the room glowed orange with the light of the fire crackling only meters in front of him.

He sipped from the crystal tumbler in his hand, relaxing as the aged firewhisky slid down his throat. His feet rested comfortably on the tufted ottoman, dragonhide shoes still tied neatly, his slightly rumpled button-down the only thing showing the exhaustion he felt—top two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up on his forearms.

It had been a long day, and he wanted to put all of the day’s nonsense out of his mind. As the alcohol took effect, his thoughts began to drift back to the night before. He didn’t know why he had agreed to Harry’s harebrained scheme to reunite Scorpius and Albus—who were Harry and Draco to interfere if their sons decided to call off their wedding, even if it was days away and completely paid for. No matter. The Malfoy estate could afford the loss. Whether or not Scorpius could pay the price was another matter.

Draco sighed and took another drink feeling his body relax into the soft leather, the heat from the fire warming him from the outside as the drink warmed him from the inside.

His thoughts drifted to Hermione. Perhaps it was time to reconsider their agreement. He couldn’t now remember the reasons for the secrecy. Certainly, it had nothing with his shame to be seen with her. She had become an elegant woman, and he was quite pleased knowing she was more than worthy of the Malfoy name. No. It was not about his feelings either, for he would give her the name if she asked for it. But perhaps it was she who was waiting to be asked. He considered it as he swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the fire dance through the crystal—flames licking at the glass the same way her small pink tongue licked—

“Father,” Scorpius said, striding through the door without knocking, “he’s being completely ridiculous,” Scorpius finished, speaking as if they had been in the middle of a conversation. The boy—although at twenty years old he was hardly a boy—poured a generous amount of firewhisky into a glass and settled into the chair on Draco’s left.

“Do make yourself comfortable,” Draco said, subtle chastisement completely lost as Scorpius continued in a rare show of emotion.

“He won’t even speak to me. It’s as if we are enemies. No,” he corrected, taking a drink, then continuing, “worse: strangers. Why do I put up with that arrogant hot head?”

“Just like his father,” Draco said to himself more than anyone. From the corner of his eye, he could see Scorpius glaring at him. Still protective, even after everything. Perhaps Potter was right. Draco hated himself for going along with this, but he did it anyway, “Tell me again why you called it off.”

“You’ve certainly rattled off the list of reasons often enough to save me the trouble of answering you now,” Scorpius bit back, draining his glass, then using a silent summoning spell on the bottle so that he could refill the empty tumbler.

“Humor me,” Draco said, taking a drink from his glass and staring into the fire as if the answer didn’t matter to him. It didn’t, but his son’s happiness certainly did.

They sat in silence for a minute and Draco began to wonder if Scorpius would answer. Scorpius refilled his glass clumsily, letting the liquid splash carelessly, the gesture an illustration of his desperation to fill the void in his heart. But the drink only numbed the pain momentarily, as Draco well knew.

Finally, a loud sigh signaled Scorpius’ resignation—to the answer, to the conversation, to the reality of the situation, Draco wasn’t sure which. He waited.

“I’m tired of being held hostage to his feelings,” Scorpius said. He sounded weary. Sad.

“Are you?” Draco said, turning, finally to his son. A look at his son’s face was all the answer he needed.

Scorpius had the same pale blonde hair that all Malfoys had; right now it was tousled as if he’d been running his hands through his long locks, one of which hung over his right eye—kind eyes like his mother. He wore all black as if in mourning, jeans crisp and long-sleeve henley fitted. Dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed his resolution to the choice to break things off.

“He said I didn’t care,” Scorpius said, sting in his voice. “Why would I marry someone who doesn’t believe I love him?”

“Don’t be a fool,” Draco said, plainly.

“Father—” Scorpius began to protest, but Draco held up a weary hand to silence the boy.

“No,” Draco said, “I understand your reaction, but you can’t just run away when things get hard. Your mother…”

Scorpius leaned back in his chair, no doubt surprised to hear Draco talk about Astoria. It was a topic they rarely discussed, both men silently agreeing to grieve in isolation.

“...she always showed up, even in my worst moments. And then one day she was gone. None of us is promised forever, Scorpius. Don’t throw away the time you have because of your pride or your impatience or whatever it is that you think is more important than your love for Albus or his for you. And you know damn well he loves you, even if he can't control his tongue any better than his father.”

“That’s not the advice I would expect from a Malfoy,” Scorpius said, a mischevious glint in his eye. Draco turned back to the fire and took a slow sip from his glass, considering how to respond.

“Your mother made me a better man,” Draco said, simply. He wanted Scorpius to remember his mother fondly, to know that he had loved his mother. Even more so now when he would have to reveal his relationship with Hermione.

“It’s been years, Father,” Scorpius said. “When are you going to move on?”

“Why?” Draco said, drily, delaying the inevitable confession, “So that I can break things off at the first sign of disagreement?”

“Ever the Slytherin,” Scorpius said. “I don’t see how I can change things now if Albus won’t speak to me.”

“Then use that Slytherin cunning of yours to figure it out,” Draco said. “Surely seven years at Hogwarts and a lifetime as a Malfoy has taught you something.”

“Challenge accepted,” Scorpius said, raising his glass between the two in acknowledgment.

Damn Potter. Draco hated when that man was right. He would never understand how a person could barrel right into the middle of a situation he didn’t understand and still come out ahead, though Potter was admittedly less foolhardy now than he had been back in their school days. A man didn’t become Head of Magical Law Enforcement without learning a few life lessons in the process. Draco supposed that he would allow Potter this victory if it meant his son was happy.

And what of his own happiness? He knew how fragile life was. What was he playing at? Hermione was right, and before he made his next move he would have to have a conversation with Scorpius. But not now. Right now he had more pressing things on his mind.

Draco sighed and finished off his drink. He bid his son goodnight, then headed down the corridor to his chambers, hardly noticing the elegant holiday decor Narcissa had insisted on having put up. Draco was going to need something much more effective than a drink to release the tension he felt at the memory of Granger’s honey brown eyes and soft golden skin beneath his hands. He already felt himself stirring at the thought and he picked up his pace. Granger. Always an annoyance. A distractingly lovely annoyance.

...

Hermione woke up, trembling in the aftermath of the dream she’d just been having. Aftershocks pulsed through her body deliciously and she moaned, all at once delirious with pleasure and completely disappointed that she had only been dreaming of Draco Malfoy. She looked out the window and moaned again, annoyed at the thick blanket of night sky beyond the window. Annoyed that their schedules hadn’t aligned, annoyed that she hadn’t stopped thinking about Draco since that night in Hog’s Head—the way his hands casually grasped her, the way his eyes raked over her.

At only days away from Christmas, Hermione did not need this distraction. Her duties as Minister of Magic never took a holiday, less than a year of divorce meant she and Ron were still figuring out the holiday arrangement with Hugo, and then there was her shambles of a social life, which included solo attendance to the Malfoy-Potter wedding that was still up in the air only days before the event. It was absurd for them to be hiding like children, and at this point, it was hurtful. She wanted to love him in public and not just behind closed doors. Merlin, did she love him? Her half-asleep mind revealed the most interesting truths to her.

Their tryst had been exciting, and he brought her body to life in a way that Ron never had. Thoughts of Draco sparked electricity between her legs and she reached down to release it. The worst thing was admitting that she had developed feelings for him. It complicated things. She considered her feelings for Draco as her hand began moving more purposefully. He had awoken something in her she had thought no longer existed. Was it those eyes, like molten mercury? Or the stubble along his finely angled jaw? Was it the way she enjoyed the feel of it scratching her throat when he kissed the delicate skin there? Or the way his hands felt as soft against her thighs as they had on her arms? She closed her eyes and let the vision of him wash over her in wave after wave of ecstasy until, finally, her body relaxed into a delicious slumber.

...

“Hermione, dear!” said Molly Weasley, pulling her into a hug. Her hair had grayed quite a bit and she was considerably more wrinkled but her eyes hadn’t lost their twinkle. “I’m so glad you could make it for Christmas Eve. Rose is already here. And your parents, too!”

“Thanks, Molly,” Hermione said, appreciative that Molly was still inclusive despite the divorce.

“Of course, dear. Victoire!” Molly shouted over Hermione’s shoulder, “Not those! I wanted the green ones. Oh, nevermind,” she muttered to herself and hurried off to fix whatever mistake Victoire was making while the baby on her hip tugged at a long lock of hair.

Hermione looked around the crowded room, wondering if it had been a good idea to attend. She felt out of place even though this had been her family for years. She supposed that her children still linked her to the Weasleys. She resolved to enjoy herself then set out to find her parents.

An hour later, Hermione wondered how early she could reasonably leave without notice. How was it that she still felt alone in the middle of a house filled with people? And on Christmas Eve. She thought of Draco as she often did in moments of silence.

“Something you care to tell me?” Ginny said, sidling up next to Hermione and scanning the room, no doubt tracking the activities of her children—James was speaking to a pretty, dark-haired witch and Luna could be seen watching raptly as Teddy entertained a group of children by transfiguring his features to resemble funny versions of their parents. No sign of Albus, though.

“What? No,” Hermione said, too quickly. She avoided Ginny’s eyes. She never was any good at hiding things from Ginny—she had some strange sort of sixth sense that made her every bit as formidable a mother as Mrs. Weasley.

“Who’s the lucky wizard?” Ginny said, elbow digging into Hermione’s side and brows waggling suggestively.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione responded, taking a half step away. “You know perfectly well…” and then her breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of the tall blonde on the other side of the room. His angular face gorgeously serious as he spoke to Harry.

“I see,” Ginny said, following her gaze.

Draco caught her gaze and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk as he listened to Harry speak. Hermione turned away only to see Ginny giving her the same look.

“Don’t start with me, Ginevra!” Hermione said.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Ginny said, throwing up her hands in mock surrender.

“Why is he here anyway?” Hermione said, pretending to be surprised by his presence.

“Same reason you are,” Ginny shrugged, “going to be part of the family, you know.”

“What?” Hermione said, surprised, “Is the wedding on again, then?”

“Not yet, but I expect it will be after tonight,” Ginny smiled, pleased with whatever secret she was hiding.

Just then Draco started making his way toward them.

“Excuse me,” Ginny said, with a mischievous smile, “I have to catch Harry for a moment.”

And then she walked away, leaving Hermione standing alone. She could feel her heart beating faster and began to panic. They hadn’t discussed this and she didn’t know what to do. Her feelings were at war and she just stood helpless as Draco walked right by her and went through the door behind her and into the kitchen. Well, that’s not what she had been expecting.

She waited a moment, then followed him.

It was surprisingly quiet in the kitchen. Draco was pouring the contents of a flask into a small glass.

“Care for some?” he asked, without bothering to look in her direction.

“Sure. Thanks,” she said, not bothering to ask what it was. Not caring. Her nerves were frayed and she needed something to take the edge off.

Draco filled another glass and closed the distance between them, brushing her fingertips as he handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said. She took a drink and was surprised to find that the liquid went down warm, smooth, like butterscotch. Of course, she shouldn’t be surprised that Draco Malfoy would be carrying high-end liquor.

“Tell me,” Draco commanded, giving her a look that expected compliance, “What are we doing here?”

“Having a drink?” Hermione said, suddenly afraid to have a real conversation. What if he didn’t want the same things she did? What if he thought she was asking for too much and decided to break things off?

“Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to talk about this?” Draco said, brushing a spilled drop of liquid from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

“Right now?” she said, voice trembling beneath his touch.

“Yes, Minister,” Draco said, quietly, “What better time than now? It’s been nearly impossible to get time on your busy schedule.”

“I know,” she agreed, “I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, leaning over and breathing the next words into her ear, “only tell me when I can see you again.”

He caught her earlobe in his teeth, then kissed her neck, tongue teasing its way to her shoulder. She let her head drop back and clumsily set her glass on the table behind her.

Draco’s hands grasped her waist, then pushed her onto the table. He spread her legs to stand between them and kissed the hollow of her throat as he unbuttoned the white dress shirt she wore.

“We can’t do this right now,” she breathed, hating herself for suggesting they stop. Her shirt was already halfway undone and his hands were greedily cupping her breasts through the thin lace bra she wore. Her nipples rose to attention revealing her lack of conviction.

“Why not?” he said, hands now sliding up her skirt, over her thighs.

“Because…” she stopped and released an involuntary moan as he grasped her knickers and began to pull, “…someone…” her voice wavered, unwilling to continue the argument she very much wanted to lose, “…someone might see us.”

“They won’t,” he said, pushing up her skirt, “and if they do,” he said, unfastening his trousers, “let them find out about us.”

Oh, Godric. Her head swam, trying to process what he had just said while her hand reached out to grasp his hardened cock and pull him into her as she scooted to the edge of the table, skirt providing a soft barrier between her arse and the table but hiked up in front to allow him entrance to her pulsing quim.

And then he was inside her, filling her gloriously. He pulled her shirt and bra down to her waist, exposing her breasts so that he could watch them bounce gently as he thrust repeatedly into her. But she wanted more. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. He lifted her off the table and sucked her lower lip. She pressed her body against him, massaging the sensitive nerves between her legs as he filled her, strong hands cupping her arse.

She moaned loudly into his mouth as she orgasmed, nipples brushing abrasively against the wool suit coat he still wore. And then he pressed into her, releasing his pleasuring in warm waves inside her as she continued spasming around his already softening member.

For a moment they stayed there interlocked, kissing each other tenderly on the mouth. She didn’t want to leave his side, but they may already be missed. She pulled away, sighing, and Draco lowered her to the ground.

A curly tendril tickled her cheek and she knew she must look rumpled, as Draco looked her over. What must he think of her in this disheveled state?

“Any wizard would be lucky to take you out there on his arm,” Draco said.

“But not you?” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice from shaking the same way her hands were as she began to button her shirt again.

Draco lifted her chin and her eyes met his, “Especially me. Go to the wedding with me.”

“But I thought it was off,” she said, confused, thrilled, uncertain.

“It won’t be much longer,” he said, but before she could ask him to explain a cheer erupted in the other room. They looked at each other and quickly made themselves presentable. Then, Draco took her hand in his and together they exited the kitchen.

For the moment, all eyes were looking in the direction of Scorpius and Albus who were hugging at the opposite end of the room. Soon, the attention would drift and they would be noticed. Hermione smiled.

“Cheers to the couple!” Molly said, raising a toast. All raised a glass and celebrated the reunion of Scorpius and Albus. Looks like it was going to be a Happy Christmas after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was meant to be a little longer--ending with the Scorbus wedding. However, I ran out of time to complete the story. This is a good endpoint, but I may update later with the slightly longer/complete version (it will still be under 10,000 words). Hope you enjoy it in its current state!


End file.
